Читать книгу One Fine Day - Teresa Morgan F. - Страница 9

The first thing Ruby did was park up in the high street and took Steve to a cash point. “Take as much out as you can. The less you use your credit card the better – it’s got your name on it, I assume.”

“Yeah…”

“Right, well, we don’t need someone questioning anything, so use cash.”

When had she got so bright, so street-wise, so mistrustful? Had she watched too many thriller movies? Next she’d be donning dark glasses and constantly looking over her shoulder.

“How much am I going to need?” he said, pulling out his wallet.

Ruby put her hand on her hip, and looked again at Steve, speculatively. He could almost see the cogs turning as she worked it out. “Well, you’re going to need a new wardrobe, haircut, and you can buy me lunch.” She grinned, flashing her straight, white teeth. Wasn’t he supposed to be the one with the persuasive smile?

Once he’d withdrawn his maximum cash limit, from two credit cards, Ruby grabbed his arm, and they walked down the quiet high street. Steve secured his favourite, well-worn LA baseball cap on his head. He found that if he kept his nose to the ground the cap hid his face well.

“First things first, let’s fix your hair before we head over to Cribbs.”

“I like my hair.”

“Yes, but it looks very Steve Mason,” she said, lowering her voice when she got to his name. “We need to change your image from gorgeous actor to mediocre man.”

Steve frowned warily.

“It’s nice, bit longer than the last time I saw you. Maybe we need a short back and sides.”

“But I’ve got a film in three months.”

“It’s hair! It’ll grow back. Trust me.”

“Why don’t we get a bowl and just cut round that,” Steve said dryly.

“Don’t tempt me. But we do need to keep you semi-respectable otherwise you won’t attract anyone.” She dragged him towards a hairdressers. She walked inside then stopped. He’d seen it too. He tugged the cap down further over his face. A coffee table laden with glossy magazines, old issues – one with Steve Mason on the front page with Erica Kealey. Giving Steve an apologetic smile, Ruby pulled on his arm and they walked back out before anyone noticed, and continued further down the high street – Steve more sombre than Ruby – to a barbershop. Men only. No glossy magazines, and if there were, it would be cars, cars, cars. And the odd issue of Nuts.

Did he really have to cut his hair? He’d grown it for his last movie, where he needed to play the smooth hero. It was around the nape of his neck, and if un-gelled like today, it had a mad unkempt look.

“Isn’t there somewhere more…designer?” Steve swallowed, looking up at the barber’s sign over the door – specifying cheap cuts. Would they make a mess of his beautiful hair? He liked his hair – just the way it was. He had a particular barber he visited in LA who he trusted, who cut his hair the way Steve preferred. It cost him but he didn’t care.

“There’s nothing wrong with this place.” Ruby grabbed his arm.

“And you know this because…?”

“Friends come here all the time.” Steve raised his eyebrows. “Male friends. It’s got a good reputation, honest. But anyway, we’re not really here to get you a good haircut. Just a haircut. The worse it looks, actually, the better.”

Steve’s mouth fell open. How would looking bad help him find the woman of his dreams? But before he could reply, Ruby tugged him into the barbers, and smiled at the young man behind the desk.

“Haircut for my brother, please. Nice and short, and maybe spiky on top. Nothing too fashionable.” Ruby’s expression was stern, and the young man in his early twenties with pristine, gelled black hair looked at her as if she was mad. Ruby might as well have asked for the clippers to do the job herself. Then, the man gave an inquisitive glance towards Steve. Would he recognise him, or not believe his luck? Sometimes people could be too gobsmacked or embarrassed to ask.

Steve rolled his eyes, not wanting to let the guy dwell on who he was. The quicker he was in and out of this place the better. He hoped.

“Do as she says, otherwise we’ll both be paying for it.” Pulling the baseball cap off, he slumped into a chair, faced the mirror, and the man placed a gown around him. Remembering the happy photograph he’d just seen of himself and Erica smiling blissfully, reminded Steve why he was doing this. Ruby was right; the hair would grow back. It was a small price to pay if he did find true love.

Very quickly, Steve watched the hair he’d grown slowly come off. It wasn’t long as in trailing down his back, but it had a mature length to it. The natural wave was starting to show now it had some length. Slicked back or left a little unkempt, he had a good head of hair. It was cut and styled with scissors rather than, as the young barber was currently doing, using clippers. He was getting a ‘short, back and sides’ like his own father used to order when he was a boy.

The barber worked in silence. Usually there would have been banter, but with Ruby standing there, her arms crossed and expression firm, he probably didn’t dare make light conversation. Steve kept quiet too, for fear of giving the game away and he watched his transforming image in despair.

With every buzz of the clippers, Steve felt sickened. A couple of years ago someone in the industry had advised Steve to grow his hair, and by doing so he’d been surprised that instantly he seemed to become popular in Hollywood. He’d lost his boyish looks and become rougher, a harder looking, mature man. Something the filmmakers wanted. The roles he was offered changed, or the ones he went for, he got. No longer the supporting role, he’d become the leading hero.

And he’d always liked how Erica used to run her hands through it while they made love…

“Oh, and thin it out a little, so it’s not so thick,” Ruby added, hovering over the poor guy who clipped and cut his way through Steve’s light-brown hair. “I was wondering if you should have some highlights—”

“Highlights?”

The barber jumped back at Steve’s outburst, apologising for nearly cutting Steve’s ear.

“But it’s lightening up as he’s using the thinning scissors on it. Relax, Bro.” She nudged Steve, and he gave her his best-unimpressed smile. He noticed she hadn’t called him Steve once in front of the barber or the other salon workers.

Once the barber had finished, he stood behind Steve with a mirror so that he could see the back of his head. Steve looked at his reflection properly for the first time throughout the ordeal. His slightly longer, wavy crop was gone and in its place a shorter, choppier style that did indeed transform him. Whether it was the sort of transformation he wanted he wasn’t entirely sure.

He paid for his haircut, plus some hair wax Ruby insisted he purchase, tipped the guy (he deserved it for tolerating Ruby) and they walked out. Weirdly, his head felt lighter by the lack of hair. He could also feel the bitter cold wind around his neck and ears more so. At least it had stopped raining. He went to put his hand through his hair and quickly stopped as soon as he felt the gel.

“You do actually look younger,” Ruby said. They headed back towards her car.

Steve scowled. Was this really going to be worth it? Would he really find his not-so-perfect woman in three months? “Man, I had it like this about three years ago when I was in a sitcom.”

“Man, I had it like this about three years ago when I was in a sitcom,” Ruby mimicked his accent.

“Shut up.”

“Shudd-up,” Ruby did it again and giggled, but Steve scowled.

Steve could not help glancing in shop windows as they walked, catching his reflection, his new look.

“Your hair will grow back. You didn’t actually have that much cut off. It’s only about an inch in places, two maybe on top.” Ruby sighed. “The way you’re looking at me it’s as if I asked you to have a number one all over.”

“I can’t believe I paid eight bucks—”

“Pounds—”

“For a haircut,” Steve continued, ignoring Ruby’s correction.

“Oh, how the other half live,” she said. “Having a cheap haircut makes you normal. Now stop complaining. Let’s buy you some clothes. You can’t go around in your designer gear. You’re looking too trendy.”

“I like some of my designer gear.”

“You can’t wear it, or if you do, tell people it’s fake.”

Crammed back into Ruby’s car – Steve really was contemplating buying her something bigger, possibly today – she drove them to the Mall at Cribbs Causeway on the M5. Two floors of wall-to-wall high street shops, with a light and airy feel from the glass rooftop. It was unbelievable that when he’d left for LA, fifteen years ago, this building had just opened. He’d only seen the development phase. Steve admired the tall palm trees as he walked past the shops, reminding him of California, where they could grow that tall without being under glass.

They hit the shops, thumbing through T-shirts, shirts, jeans, everything on a hanger. Ruby had bypassed some of the fashionable shops advertising designer labels, in search for the cheaper stores.

“Pick out what you like. Remember you could be staying for a while. You need a new wardrobe.”

Ruby had picked him out a new watch, which cost all of twenty-five pounds, and insisted on a pair of sunglasses. They were in the sale as it was October. He had sarcastically argued he didn’t really need a pair.

“But you can’t wear the ones you do – even driving. Says film star all over them.”

“I won’t need sunglasses. I haven’t even seen the sun yet.”

“This time of year, the sun is really low – when it does come out – so actually you will.”

He’d agreed, handed over the cash, luckily no customer assistants asked any questions. In fact, at one point he thought he saw empathy in one guy. He must have thought Ruby’s henpecking intolerable, however Steve, for some reason, enjoyed his sister’s fuss, even if she was overbearing. Any other woman would not be getting away with this sort of behaviour, obviously, but as it was Ruby and she seemed happy to boss him about, he let her.

He had fifteen years to make up for.

Although, buried resentment reminded him he hadn’t altogether forgiven Ruby yet. But today wasn’t the time to dwell. They were all that was left of their family. And she was doing him a favour.

He just didn’t like how she was taking pleasure in it. She was way too smug. This had better work.

Laden with the bags containing Steve’s new wardrobe, Ruby stopped abruptly, looking at a dress in a shop window and sighed. Maybe it was time to make it up to her the only way he knew how.

Build a few bridges, Steve.

“Come on, all this shopping was for me; I’ll treat you now.”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to.”

“Yes I do.” Steve grabbed her elbow, and escorted her into the shop. Twenty minutes later – Ruby had tried on a few dresses in the end – they left the shop, Ruby grinning gleefully.

“‘Oh, you don’t have to,’” Steve said sarcasm lacing his words, “‘but is it okay if I try on this one, and this one and this one?’”

Ruby elbowed him playfully in the ribs. “Thank you, I’m very grateful. I’m not used to being spoilt.”

Steve winked. “Not a problem, Roo.”

“Just don’t make a habit of flashing your money around though,” she said more sternly.

“Okay,” he said, then mumbled, “I try to do a nice thing…”

“You were nice, now how about a coffee. I’m all shopped out and need a rest.”

Steve couldn’t agree more. The jet lag was catching up with him. He needed a boost.

They stopped at a coffee shop in the middle of the Mall which had a seating area under the escalators.

Steve chose a table tucked away, while Ruby ordered the coffees. He grew anxious as he looked at the clothes in the bags. If the press got hold of this, would they make it out as an early midlife crisis on his part? He started to imagine the headlines; ‘Mediocre Man Mason.’

Steve watched the shoppers passing him by. No one was taking a blind bit of notice of him. Maybe the people of Bristol were less likely to believe a Hollywood star would be right under their nose, whereas in London his cover could have easily been blown.

He wouldn’t get too excited yet. This was the first day. If he did get discovered, he’d have to say goodbye to Ruby, or she’d be swept up in it all. Luckily, he’d changed his name to his mum’s maiden name as he tried the rounds in Hollywood. An agent had suggested that Mason had a better ring to it than Fisher. This helped Mum and Ruby, when things had started to warm up for Steve on the fame front. They were able to keep a low profile, without being instantaneously linked to the new actor on the scene. It helped they lived in the UK, too. But he’d kept them private as much as he could and it seemed to work. Ruby had led a normal life as far as he could tell.

Although, was she happy with this normal life? He’d ask her one day. Today she was too keen to be his personal shopper.

“Large cappuccino for you, skinny vanilla latte for me.” Ruby placed the coffees on the table. “We’ll have these, shop some more, then you can buy me lunch.” She grinned.

“I was hoping you’d say we could go home. Haven’t I got enough clothes? I don’t have to get them all today.”

“Oh no, the next stop is the opticians.”

“I don’t need glasses.”

“You do now.”

She sipped her coffee, and winced, it was still too hot. He’d tested his own, but could drink it napalm. His mother had always said he had an asbestos mouth, drinking tea practically from the kettle. Fascinated, he watched Ruby stir her latte.

“What? Have I got milk on my lip or something?”

He laughed. “No. You just remind me so much of Mum.”

“I do?”

“Yes, your mannerisms, the facial expressions. Your eyes.”

“Yeah, they’re this a dull sludge colour, great.”

“They’re green. They’re not dull.”

“So where’d you get the pretty eyes from, huh?” She was referring to the light blue eyes that had now become one of his assets as an actor. That and his smile. Oh, he knew if he looked some women straight in the eye, he saw an instant transformation from calm and collected to a nervous jelly mess. He’d seen the state it could create a thousand times. Especially now he was Steve Mason – the Actor and Hollywood Hunk. He’d learnt in his teens he could make girls giggly and shy. He even used his eyes on his own mother to get away with murder.

“Dad, apparently,” he said. That’s what his mother used to say; he was the spitting image of his father.

“Great, Dad passes on the pretty eye gene to just you,” she said, cupping her latte glass and pouting.

“Your eyes are pretty.”

Ruby snorted. “They don’t sparkle like yours. So annoying! And don’t look at me like that, either.” She wagged her finger. “It won’t wash with me. And don’t forget it.”

They people-watched while finishing their coffees.

“Shall we go?” Ruby said, draining the last of her drink and pushing the cup away.

“Damn it, when did you get so bossy?”

The next thing Steve knew he was being lead into an opticians.

“We need glasses,” Ruby said to an assistant that approached her. She was a pretty blonde, who immediately took a shine to Steve who was trying on different pairs of glasses.

“Aren’t you—?”

“No!” Steve laughed it off, keeping a pair of frames on his face.

“He gets that all the time.” Ruby stood in between them. “That’s why we were thinking some glasses.”

“Do you need your eyes tested?”

“Nothing wrong with my eyes, twenty-twenty vision,” Steve said, beaming his million-dollar smile at her. Ruby pinched him. He rubbed his arm, scowling at Ruby, then looked back to the assistant. “I’ve got a job interview, thought glasses would make me look more professional.”

The assistant nodded. If she believed that, she’d believe anything.

“Here, try these.” Ruby picked out a pair of glasses, thin silver frames and handed them to him. He put them on, looked in the mirror, then looked at her, she frowned. “Hmmm…Not enough.”

“Remind me why I’m doing this again?” he said quietly so only Ruby could hear.

“Clark Kent.” Ruby pushed another pair into his hands, putting the other pair back. “No one realised he was Superman, did they? Not even Lois.” She whipped the next pair of glasses off his face. “Not nerdy enough.”

She found another pair. Steve knew what she was doing; she was trying to find frames that didn’t quite suit him, yet didn’t want them to look so ridiculous no one would fancy him. He put the glasses on. They were bigger frames, though fashionable, but they didn’t quite complement his face, so would hide his looks, at least a little. His heart still palpitated every time he glimpsed his new haircut in the mirror, let alone the spectacles on his face. What was he doing?

Early mid-life crisis was definitely what it looked like. The press could not get wind of this.

“Perfect!” Ruby clapped her hands together. “Can we buy these, please?” she said, approaching the assistant, who’d watched dumbfounded for the last ten minutes. She’d tried helping but Ruby hadn’t allowed her to express her expert opinion. The assistant’s face said it all. These glasses were all wrong, which meant they were right for their purpose.

“Well, uh, they’re our display.” The assistant hesitated. “It takes a few days for them to come through usually—”

“We were hoping to take them today – as he only needs plain lenses.”

Steve got out his wallet, pulling out twenties. “Here,” he said, winking at the assistant, young enough to use his blue-eyed charm on, plus she wasn’t his sister. “I’m sure this will do it. Just not a word now.” He tapped his nose.

“Okay, okay.” Works every time. The assistant hurried off, ran it through the till, having a word with the manager. She put the glasses in a case and handed them to Steve, keeping hold of his hand for a brief moment.

“You know, I’m free tonight—”

“I’m sorry, but he’s gay.” Ruby rushed in, grabbing Steve’s arm. The assistant looked taken back.

“What?” Steve said, astounded.

“Come on, Bro,” Ruby said sternly. “Bruno’s waiting for you.”

“Bruno?” Steve mouthed, still wearing a confused expression.

Immediately leaving the opticians shop, Ruby took the glasses out of the case and started cleaning them and removing the tags. “Put these on.”

“Now?”

“No, next week.” She rolled her eyes. “Yes, she was on to you then.”

“I thought this whole idea was for me to find a date.”

“You can’t start using your charm like that. Not until we’ve fully agreed on your identity.”

Steve’s phone buzzed inside his pocket, he pulled it out, frowned and shoved it back. He’d deal with messages later.

“Phone!” Ruby said, stopping abruptly, holding a shopping-bag-laden hand in the air, as if pointing to a light bulb appearing above her head. “We’d better get you a phone. Nothing too fancy mind, but you’re going to need to give out your phone number, and you don’t want to give out that one.” She tapped his arm, pointing to a phone shop ahead. “Get a pay as you go. That’ll do you.”

Twenty-five minutes, and some mild arguing later, Steve walked out of the shop with a brand new phone. Nothing too flash, as Ruby had insisted, something to make calls and take text messages. Ruby strolled behind him with a satisfied grin. Steve had wanted the all singing and dancing latest smart phone – even he didn’t have it yet – but Ruby had a point. Unfortunately.

“You want someone to think you’re poor and still love you, right?”

“Why did I let you talk me into this?” Steve muttered, momentarily annoyed by her smug happiness. He stood in the middle of the Cribbs, by the fountain, trying to work out his new phone and put Ruby’s number in it. Ruby threw a coin into the fountain and closed her eyes. He hoped she was wishing this plan of hers would work.

Ruby nudged him. “Oh and, you know, I was thinking, you’ve got to ditch your accent.”

“I’ve worked fifteen years to get this accent. I have to sound American, only way to get the best parts, kid.”

“Hugh Grant does okay.”

“Hugh Grant gets typecast.”

“Point taken.” She nodded. “But you still need to lose it. Otherwise they won’t believe you’re not Steve Mason. You’re an actor, act British. Or something.” She waved her hands in frustration. “Pretend this is your next big role.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll try. I’m sure hanging around you will bring my accent back slowly.” Plus make me swear profusely.

“You say it as if it’s a bad thing.”

He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and hugged her closer. “No, it’s far from a bad thing. I just can’t believe my baby sister has grown up…to someone really bossy.”

“I’m assertive, not bossy.” She elbowed him in the ribs, and he groaned.

“Right, yes, assertive. So where am I taking you to lunch?”